


Truth And Vengeance

by britishliterate



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Another Tarsus IV, Emotional Abuse, Hurt!Jim, Hurt!Spock, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Post-Narada, Sarek Is Not Nice, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Starvation, Tarsus IV, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-13 22:59:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17497004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britishliterate/pseuds/britishliterate
Summary: THIS WORK IS CURRENTLY ON HIATUS. IT IS NOT ABANDONED.After the Narada-Incident, the Enterprise Crew is assigned to a new mission: to establish diplomatic ties with the planet Alitheia.But when things go horribly downhill, Jim and Spock find themselves isolated and hunted on a famished planet. Amongst their flight, old traumas are bound to resurface.





	1. prelude I.

_I._

Jim had always preferred the early hours of the morning.

 

With the Enterprise's corridors deserted and the entirety of space seemingly at peace during those peculiar hours just before Alpha Shift, Jim felt secure in the knowledge that he was under no obligation to perform and – even if it was only for a mere hour or two – that his thoughts and actions would affect nobody but himself. Nevertheless, the feeling of guilt would not cease.

 

The Narada Incident had undoubtedly taken its toll on the crew and after almost a month of mourning, rebuilding and recuperation, Jim still felt it every day. He noticed the way his crew's gaze turned towards the floor when he passed them in the hallway, how certain members of his crew avoided the reconstructed parts of the Enterprise where their friends and colleagues had lost their lives and he certainly noticed the countless runny noses, the puffy eyes, blotched faces and the way they quickly wiped an involuntary tear away when they thought Jim wouldn't see. But he saw every tear and knew about every loss, only that he did not know how to help his crew; he didn't even know how to help himself. Ever since the detrimental battles with Nero and the Narada, Jim had felt his nightmares return; he had felt the mental shields he'd built for himself so carefully all those years ago crumble piece by piece and even though he _knew_ it wasn't his fault, he couldn't divest himself of the guilt pushing him down, the weight of millions of lost Vulcan lives and countless dead crew members resting on his shoulders.

Whenever Jim's mind begins to inevitably return to the Narada and the familiar feeling of survivor's guilt, he likes to wander the corridors of his ship, assuring himself that _yes, they were still alive_ and that _yes, the ship was back to normal._ When Jim had started creeping around the corridors during ungodly hours of the morning four weeks ago, he'd taken to re-examine each deck and each corridor to ease the constricting anxiety that came alongside his resurfaced insomnia. After reassuring the intactness of Deck Three, Jim turned a corner to prepare for Alpha Shift and nearly jostled against Chekov.

 

"Captain!", Chekov exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise. "I'm very sorry, I hadn't seen you –"

"It's quite alright", Jim answered and gave his Ensign a small, reassuring smile. While Chekov was undoubtedly one of his favourite crewmembers who had remained as loyal as ever during these harrowing last weeks, he was exceptionally bad at hiding his grief. Even now with the dimmed light of the corridors, Jim could see Chekov's glassy eyes and the dark under-eye circles, which seemed to get darker and darker as time passed. Apart from himself, Chekov shared perhaps the same amount of guilt on his shoulders; Jim was aware that he continued to blame himself for losing Spock's mother and while Spock himself had assured him he wasn't at fault, it weighed heavily upon his young shoulders. "I should have paid more attention. Anyways, why are you up so early? Alpha Shift doesn't start until 0800."

 

"Well, Commander Spock gave me access to his report about the chemical constitution of the soil, rocks and atmosphere of Silles VI" _Lie._ "I had planned to work through it before Alpha Shift starts."

Jim smiled in sympathy for his Ensign; though it was the sort of unhealthy coping mechanism McCoy always condemned, his crew knew how to keep up their professional appearance and their performance even if everything around them seemed to be falling apart.

"Then I won't hold you up any longer."

"Captain", Chekov said and nodded respectfully, before brushing past Jim. As Jim watched him walking down the corridor, he frowned at the sight of Chekov's tightly clenched fist and tight shoulders. With a small sigh, Jim turned away from him and returned to his task of wandering the corridors.

He still had 0140 hours until Alpha Shift started and the pressure in his chest was increasingly difficult to ignore.

 

_II._

 

As Jim rested his head against the cooling steel of the Turbolift, the soft noises and subtle vibrations calmed the anxiety bubbling in his veins. With his eyes closed he had intended to meditate and collect himself well enough to enter the Bridge without feeling like the walls were closing in around him, as the soft buzzing noise of his PADD tore him out of his meditative state. Notifications before the start of Alpha Shift usually meant either an urgent message from the Admiralty or an emergency on the ship requiring his immediate interference, which didn't sound appealing to Jim either way. With the second sigh of the day, Jim unlocked his PADD and opened the notification.

 

**Admiral A. Yelchukova**

_There has been a new development in immediate need for your attention. I request a conference with you and your First Officer at 0730._

The instant surge in anxiety was temporarily drowned out by confusion, as Jim read the message for a second and a third time: he was entirely clueless about the developments the Admiral might be referring to. Jim was aware of every occurrence within the Federation, which might require help from the Enterprise, but the suggestion that there has been a "new development" he was unaware of didn't calm his nerves in any way. With a deep frown, he changed the destination of the Turbolift and wandered the corridors until he stood in front of his First Officer's quarters. Only the slightest surge of guilt rushed through his body as he knocked on the door, until it opened and Spock stood in the doorframe, wearing his traditional Vulcan meditation robes and a characteristically raised eyebrow.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, Spock", Jim apologised hastily, before his First Officer had the chance to speak. "But I just got a notification from the Admiral. She requested a conference with the both of us at 0730."

"I see. Has the Admiral spoken about the nature of the matter?", Spock asked and stepped aside to let Jim into his quarters. Jim shook his head and entered the room, the unusually high temperature intensifying the headache, which had crept up to him since receiving the message. "No, she only mentioned that whatever's happened required our immediate attention, so it seems to be pretty important", he replied, as he eyed Spock's meditation mat with another surge of guilt.

 

Even with their tough start and their recently blooming friendship, the Narada Incident had put a massive strain on Jim's relationship to Spock. After the loss of both his mother and his planet, along with it countless millions of his people and his home, Spock had isolated himself from the crew. While his professional performance was as impeccable as ever, even his Vulcan heritage couldn't suppress the severe mourning process he was going through; within the last month, Spock had broken up with Uhura and had distanced himself from the crew to the point where he could only be seen during his shifts and refused to do anything apart from work and meditate, let alone socialise or continue their chess games every other day. While Jim couldn't blame him for this withdrawal, he couldn't deny he missed them.

 

"Very well. I shall change into my uniform and meet you in the Ready Room".

With a small smile Jim left Spock's quarters and made his way to the Ready Room, mentally preparing for their next mission.

 

_III._

"Admiral", Jim said, watching as the Admiral briefly nodded in acknowledgement and then raised her chin again, watching him intently with piercing blue eyes; Admiral Amalia Yelchukova was the youngest appointed Admiral in the history of Starfleet and she let people know it. Her artificially grey hair sat on the top of her head in an uncomfortably tight bun, which only intensified her angular features, aquiline nose and correlated perfectly with her stoic manner.

 

"Captain Kirk. I believe I requested your First Officer present and yet I see only you", she said with a syrupy smile, which had the same disconcerting effect as a multi-coloured dab on a black canvas.

"My First Officer will be here soon. You must understand that it is well before the start of Alpha Shift, so I think it's understandable that we weren't prepared for this conference", Jim answered and tried his best not to snap at her. There was something about the Admiral that made his blood boil, but for one he couldn't quite put his finger on it and also his career progression had taught him that sometimes he needed to respect authority – even if they didn't deserve it. "Nevertheless –"

 

With a soft noise the door to the Ready Room opened and Spock entered.

 

"Admiral. I apologise for my delay", he said, as he joined Jim in front of the screen and the Admiral inclined her head again.

"Nevertheless", Jim spoke again. "What is this new development you spoke of?"

 

For a moment, the Admiral's stoic expression faltered as she shifted in her seat and let her gaze wander between Jim and Spock. With her bony fingers absentmindedly stroking the faded scar on her cheek, she fixed her eyes on Spock before she spoke again.

 

"I believe you are aware of the planet Alitheia?"

Jim's mind began to race; he was familiar with the name but knew very little about the planet itself. He'd heard about revolutions and uprisings when he was in the Academy, but apart from that his knowledge was limited since it wasn't directly involved with the Federation and therefore of little importance to him.

"Yes", Spock answered, with his hands characteristically clasped behind his back. Jim couldn't help but smile unobtrusively as the Admiral raised her eyebrow in question, obviously surprised by Spock's answer. "Alitheia has had several uprisings and revolutionary attempts within the last 72 years against the autocratic government, but no change has been achieved. I believe they have resisted diplomatic relations with the Federation and have behaved antagonistically to Starfleet."

 

"Yes, Commander", the Admiral said and pursed her lips. "Alitheia has indeed resisted the Federation's attempts to establish diplomatic relations. Are you aware of the current situation on the planet?"

 

"The government has outlasted the last revolutionary attempt and reinstated its Emperor Ra'Khoi –"

 

"Wait, Ra'Khoi? They instated a Klingon as their Emperor?", Jim asked incredulously.

 

"After the Alitheians overthrew and executed the last sovereign and his heirs, they turned to the Klingons as their closest allies. A fraternisation of Klingons and Alitheians would mean an exponential threat to the Federation, making diplomatic relations the only way to prevent two hostile planets to conspire against Starfleet and the Federation. An immediate threat would be inevitable"

 

"But why would they overthrow their government in the first place?", Jim puzzled and leaned against the conference table, a deep frown forming on his forehead. "Wouldn't it make more sense to solve their problems, which caused their uprisings, before we try to alienate them from the Romulans?"

 

"Within the last centuries, and more recently in the last two and a half years, Alitheia has had several problematic developments. For one, of course, the autocratic monarchy and their lack of human rights, judging by the standards of the Federation. But Alitheia has had other problems apart from their government. With an economic decline and their profound isolation, apart from their alliance with the Romulans, the Alitheians have had to endure a harrowing famine. Those problems are too deeply rooted too fix before negotiations can begin, Captain. I understand your _altruistic_ motives, but diplomatic alliance with the Federation is crucial for the planet to prosper", the Admiral explained, apparently unaware of the colour draining from Jim's face, as he gripped the table tightly and focused on the screen. He heard his blood rushing in his ears, he felt the familiar lump in his throat growing larger and larger until he feels like he couldn't breathe; Jim tugged at the neckline of his uniform in a desperate effort to _breathe,_ to ease the tightness in his chest and the hammering of his heart in his aching chest.

 

"Captain?", he heard Spock ask, but it sounded so far away, so dull and quiet, as if he was miles away. _Jesus, get a grip!_ , Jim chastised himself and focused on his breathing, just like the therapist in Iowa had told him back when he was a child and couldn't look at his stepfather without feeling like his chest would collapse. "Jim!"

 

"Yes, sorry", Jim answered quietly, not quite trusting his voice yet.

"Shall I ask for Doctor McCoy?", Spock inquired. Jim only now realised that Spock had turned them in such an angle that Spock shielded Jim from the Admiral's gaze and in that moment, Jim was eternally grateful.

 

"No, I'm fine. Thanks, Spock", Jim said quietly.

 

"Captain?", the Admiral asked impatiently. Spock returned to his prior position and clasped his hands behind his back again as if nothing had happened, while Jim returned his focus to the screen.

 

"I apologise, Admiral. As for Alitheia, I believe you want us to lead diplomatic negotiations?"

 

The Admiral still hadn't lowered her accusatory eyebrow, but she'd raised her chin again and nodded in agreement.

 

"Yes, precisely. But apart from diplomatic talks, I need you to examine just how badly the famine has destroyed the planets economic capacity. If the Federation decides to ally with Alitheia, we need to make sure their production sites and their agriculture isn't destroyed beyond repair and is worth restoring. I expect regular reports from the Enterprise on both the economic situation and the progress of your diplomatic endeavours"

 

Jim nodded briefly, ignoring the wave of nausea washing over him.

 

"Very well. We shall report to you frequently, Admiral", Spock answered, before the screen went black. "Captain, are you certain you are not in need of medical attention? Dissociation, nausea, increased heart frequency and cold swear are clear signs of –"

 

"No, I'm really fine, Spock", Jim interrupted him. He'd always been embarrassed about his panic attacks, but especially when he was around his crew or – God forbid – if he was on duty. Panic attacks, for him, meant a sign of weakness, which he just couldn't afford as Captain of Starfleet's flagship. "Thank you anyways. Let's go and tell the crew we have a new mission"

 

Jim laughed dryly and as they made their way to the door, he knew that laugh couldn't even convince himself.

 

_IV._

 

"Captain on the Bridge!", Chekov announced, as Jim and Spock entered the Bridge.

 

The Bridge had always had a simultaneously calming and terrifying effect on Jim; during his years in the Academy, the thought of sitting in _that_ chair would be the only thing that kept him going and even during the first weeks of commanding the Enterprise, he would feel a euphoric rush of energy whenever he entered the Bridge. But with the Narada Incident and its aftermath, the chair felt like the epitome of failure, and whenever he sat in it Jim was reminded not only of the immense responsibility he carried on his shoulders, but first and foremost of the many times he'd failed to fulfil that responsibility.

With a last thoughtful gaze to the Captain's chair, approached the middle of the Bridge and turned to his crew.

 

"Commander Spock and I had a meeting with the Admiral this morning", Jim announced and searched for any signs of response in his crew's faces. They all looked more tired and worn out than ever before and while the announcement of a new mission used to elicit feelings of pleasant anticipation and motivation, now he only saw apathetic and neutral expressions. "Our next mission will be the establishment of diplomatic relations with the planet Alitheia. Alitheia has had several revolutions in the past and is now under the rule of Emperor Ra'Khoi. It's our mission to negotiate with him and to win him over to ally with the Federation instead of the Klingons. We will also need to take a look at its economic situation for trade possibilities and so on. I know this ship and this crew has been through a lot over the past month, but this mission will be much quieter and I assure you, that we'll be out of there as soon as possible"

 

_V._

 

The remainder of the day had passed rather uneventfully and in the evening, Jim made his way to the Sickbay. Ever since his first bouts of anxiety attacks in his childhood, insomnia had been an undesirable side effect and while he was averse to any sort of medication, he couldn't afford to lose any more sleep. He had a ship to command and a crew to take care of, so he needed to be alert.

 

"Bones?", Jim asked, as he opened the door to the Sickbay. He liked to avoid the Sickbay as much as possible; ever since _that_ event, he attempted to avoid any sort of hospital setting as much as possible, but with his apparent affinity for recklessness and self-sacrificing behaviour, it had become inevitable. "Bones, where are you?"

 

"I'm here, I'm here. Had to patch up Fletcher from Engineering. God knows what Scotty's doing to 'em, but he's the third one this week with nasty contusion", Leonard said with the distinct Southern drawl that made Jim feel like home. Accompanied by a sigh that must've been building up the whole day, Leonard led Jim into his office and ordered him to sit down.

 

"What's bothering you, kid? Don't tell me you got contusion as well, because if so –", Leonard began menacingly.

 

"No, no contusion. I just –", Jim said, suddenly feeling incredibly embarrassed again. "I don't sleep much. Well, I don't really sleep at all, and I need something to make me."

 

Another sigh left Leonard's lips, as he leaned back in his chair and absentmindedly scratched his impending stubble. Of course, the Narada had taken a toll on him as well. As his Chief Medical Officer, Leonard had been working nonstop to heal Jim's crew – _the crew that you failed_ – and sacrificed his sleep as well. Of course he'd sacrificed sleep, just like everyone else on the ship, and apparently Jim was the only one complaining about it.

 

"But it's not really necessary, I'll be fine without", Jim backtracked.

 

"You stop sleeping when there's something on your mind", Leonard noted, watching Jim intently before reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulling out a half-empty bottle of Scotch.

 

"And apparently you drink when there's something on yours", Jim snorted, but made no effort to refuse the glass in front of him.

 

"Don't be cocky with me, kid. I've had a long day and anyways, it was a gift from Scotty, so it's definitely gonna make you forget whatever's on your mind", Leonard said with a dry smile, pouring both of them a glass, before leaning back into his chair and returning his gaze to his friend.

He had noticed the toll the Narada Incident had taken on Jim – it was hard _not_ to notice. His friend looked more tired than he'd ever seen him before, he was restless, anxious and Leonard noticed he'd started to increasingly alternate between euphoric drive and depressive self-doubt again. So he definitely took Jim's word for it if he said he wasn't sleeping, Hell, Jim wasn't the only one.

 

"So", Leonard began and pushed the glass towards Jim, encouraging him to speak. "Are gonna tell me what's been bothering you before I'll drug you up to the eyeballs with Benzodiazepines?"

 

Jim avoided his gaze, as he swirled the golden liquid around his glass and huffed quietly. He hated talking about his _feelings_ , especially with Leonard or anyone close to him in general. Jim was Captain, he had a duty to fulfil and, if anything, being so emotionally compromised that he lost sleep over it and that he had to tell Leonard about it, just meant that he'd failed this duty yet again.

"I'd rather you give me those Benzos now and we'll never talk about what's _bothering me_ at all", Jim said dryly and took a sip of Scotch, feeling the pleasant burn of high-proof alcohol in the back of his throat.

 

"You know I can't do that, Jim", Leonard said. His voice still had that Southern drawl to it, but it had adopted a sickeningly sympathetic and pitying undertone, that made Jim want to get up and leave immediately. Maybe the fact that any sort of sympathy and worry directed towards him automatically activated Jim's fight-or-flight response did need addressing, but that could wait until their mission was over and his crew was safe. "Honestly, what's been up with you lately? I know the last month has been hard on you, on all of us, but – I'm worried about you."

 

"Where did all this sentimentality come from, Bones?", Jim said, attempting to ease the uncomfortableness of their situation. "I'm just a bit shaken up, that's all. I just need some pills to help me catch up on sleep and I'll be back to normal."

 

"In a pig's eye, you are", Leonard said, emptying his glass before pouring another. "I'm not gonna give you anything before you tell me why you've been so _depressed_ the last few weeks."

 

"I'm not depressed, I'm just –", Jim began and sighed deeply, resting his head in his hands as if hiding his face from Leonard could hide his shame from the universe. He would tell Leonard enough to please him and make him prescribe sleeping medication, but he couldn't tell him all of it, he just couldn't. "I keep dreaming about the Narada and all those people I lost and whenever I look at my crew, I just – I can _see_ they blame me for what's happened. They blame for the death of their friends, I'm sure Spock blames me for the death of his mother and his planet, and even if everyone reassures me they don't, I can't shake the feeling that they do."

 

"Jim", Leonard said quietly and furrowed his brows, staring at him intently with such sympathy it made Jim's blood boil. "There's no way I can convince you it's not your fault, can I?"

 

"No, that's why I didn't want to talk about it in the first place", Jim snapped. "I just need to sleep, Bones, please"

 

Leonard turned away his eyes from Jim and watched the Scotch, swirling the glass around in his hands. Out of all people Leonard had known in his life, no one had been as guarded, as isolated and as secretive about their emotions as Jim had. Leonard suspected that such behaviour didn't come out of nowhere, but he wasn't one to pressure his friend into confiding in him. The fact that Jim had come to him and told him he had trouble sleeping was unusual by itself.

 

"No one blames you for what happened, you know?" "Bones –" "No, Jim, you need to hear this. I haven't heard a single member of this crew imply in any way that you're at fault for what happened. The death of Spock's mother and the loss of Vulcan were well beyond your power and Spock knows it as well as anyone else on the ship. Yes, everyone is grieving and we can't blame them for it. But to your crew, you're the one who saved the majority of them, rather than the one who lost some of their people"

 

God, he hated how good Leonard was at this.

 

"When did you learn to give such great pep talks?", Jim grumbled and emptied his glass as well.

 

"When I had to manoeuvre my daughter through a divorce without her hating my guts", Leonard answered with a raised eyebrow, as he reached into another drawer under his desk and took out a blister of pills.

 

"These should help with your insomnia. Take one a day until the blister is empty, then come and see me again. Don't just discontinue them by yourself, I don't want you to go into withdrawal or anything. Treat them with respect, kid, it's my personal stash"


	2. prelude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a brief mention of emotional abuse. It's not explicit, but if you'd rather not read about such things, I'm giving you a little prior warning! Also, I hope I got all those American idioms right, but please correct me if I'm wrong!

_I._

Meditation had become increasingly difficult within the past month.

 

The almost undetectable humming of the Enterprise below his body and the undisturbed peace at dusk used to ease any onrushing wave of emotional stir he might experience but within the past four weeks, not even prolonged meditation would help the intensity of emotions Spock experienced.

It had been his father who had urged him to take up the practice of meditation in his early childhood – in hindsight, Spock knew his father had tried to suppress his human side through intense meditation, to desperately make him fit into a mould he would never fit into, no matter how much he tried and meditated and cried and prayed. During his childhood and adolescence on Vulcan, meditation had enabled him to control his violent outbursts, the anger, pain and grief buried deep inside him, the intense emotional distress that came with torment and cruelty from both Vulcans and Humans and the knowledge, that he really didn't belong _anywhere._

When he had joined Starfleet, meditation became a routine to ensure he would not be emotionally comprised and would maintain his impeccable work standard or, after particularly trying missions, to process, understand and control any emotional turbulence. Consequently, meditation was an essential part of Spock's life, to ensure not only faultless work but also the fulfilment of his duty to his Captain, and it had never posed a problem. Until now.

 

Spock sat cross-legged on his meditation mat with scentless candles scattered around his dimly lit quarters, his traditional meditation robes spread out evenly around his body. He'd been sitting in the same position for precisely 23.1 minutes and he still hadn't centred his mind and body well enough to reach equilibrium; instead, his brows were furrowed, he'd dug his thumb nail painfully deep into his palms and his jaw was clenched uncomfortably. Such a state of tension was highly unusual and despite all of his efforts to centre his mind, he continuously lost his train of thought, his mind wandering aimlessly with no chance of focus.

 

Breathing deeply, Spock guided his focus towards the most prominent emotions on the very forefront of his mind, following the almost unbearable intensity of emotions running through his core like a golden thread until his mother's face appeared before him. Associated with this image, Spock registered a flood of countless, interwoven emotions and began the process of cataloguing each feeling in an attempt to control the intense responses the thought of his mother elicited in him. The most prominent feeling was guilt; Spock felt guilty for losing his mother, for not holding her when he beamed up, for beaming down too late and for reacting too slowly when she fell to her death before his eyes. Inextricably linked with his guilt was anger, as intense as he hadn't felt it since his childhood tormentors had called his mother a "human whore"; his anger was directed towards himself for not doing enough to save his mother, directed towards the Captain for accusing him of apathy towards her death, towards Nero for destroying his home planet and towards his father for relativising the intensity of emotions he'd felt. But alongside of pain, anger and guilty, the image of his mother elicited an overwhelming sense of thankfulness, gratitude and love. He was immensely grateful for his mother, who had always tried to make him feel like he belonged, who had held him when meditation didn't work and he had cried for hours and hours into her arms, who had never faltered when she was insulted by Vulcan children in the streets, and who had unfailingly come to his defence when his father punished him for his "human actions".

The thought of his father directed him towards another flood of emotions, dominated by an overwhelming sense of dread, fear and resentment. Before him appeared the countless occasions in which his father had punished him for crying, for laughing, for seeking physical comfort. He felt resentment as he remembered being told he'd never be normal, that neither Earth nor Vulcan would fully accept him for who he was, and when the image of his father towering ominously over him appeared, the felt a wave of fear so intense Spock was sure he must've gasped audibly. Fear and anxiety clouded his mind and Spock felt his pulse quickening, as his mind was – now more uncontrolled and inadvertently – directed towards the image of Emperor Ra'Khoi. Ever since the announcement of the new mission, Spock had noted an exponential increase in anxious emotional reactions. For perhaps the first time in his life, Spock didn't know _why_ he felt the way he did and relied entirely on what his Captain would describe as a "gut feeling". The thought of their upcoming mission caused a surge in anxiety, fear, dread and worry. He feared the mission would go just as wrong as the Narada-Mission, he feared what was to come and he especially feared for the life of his Captain. When the Captain – _Jim_ – had been so horrifically injured both by Nero and by Spock himself, Spock had felt intense fear and worry, as well as guilt for contributing to his injuries.

Spock paid meticulous attention to cataloguing and understanding his emotions, so that they would not control him the way they seemed to control his human colleagues, but for whatever reason, Spock had purposefully avoided the emotional response elicited by the Captain's injuries –

 

"Spock?"

His Captain's voice tore Spock out of his meditation. Suppressing a sigh, Spock gathered his candles and opened up the door for his Captain. He must've returned from his shift since he had removed his Uniform and stood, rather rigidly, in front of Spock's door dressed in all-black slacks and a t-shirt with the Starfleet Academy logo printed across the chest. As he looked at Spock, he furrowed his brows and sighed.

 

"I'm sorry, Spock. I didn't know you were meditating, I can come back later –"

 

"It is quite alright, Captain", Spock reassured him. He had noticed over the course of their mission, that the Captain needed frequent reassurance that he was not at fault and that his friends and colleagues were not, in fact, constantly angry or disappointed with him. Spock was unsure where such a need for constant validation came from, but he had catalogued it and made sure to frequently appeal to his Captain's emotional needs. "Would you like to come in?"

 

Jim smiled as Spock stepped aside to let him into his quarters.

 

"You really need to give me your meditation schedule, I can't just barge in on you all the time", Jim said with a nervous laugh.

 

"There is no such thing as a 'meditation schedule', Captain. Meditation is merely a tool to establish emotional control and I shall use it whenever it becomes necessary –"

 

"It was a joke, Spock. And we're off duty, so call me Jim, please", Jim said. He would never admit it, but whenever he needed a bit of a cheering up, he would bombard his First Officer with human idioms and sarcasm, just so see his confusion. It was not a nice thing to do but he never meant any harm and he'd started to suspect, that Spock pretended to know a lot more about human humour than he pretended. "Would you like to play some chess? We haven't played a game in ages"

 

"Certainly", Spock answered and stored away his meditation mat in a cupboard, before setting up the chess game. Jim _was_ right; they hadn't played chess since the end of their Narada-Mission and while Spock would never admit it, he thoroughly enjoyed playing chess with his Captain. Not only did he enjoy the mental challenge, but they had also managed to resolve their initial animosity towards each other over several games of chess and admittedly stimulating conversation.

 

"Drink?", Jim asked with a cheeky grin, as he lifted a quarter-full, square bottle of golden brown liquid and dangled it in front of Spock.

 

"Vulcans do not consume alcohol. It goes against all logic to consume a liquid making one prone to emotional outburst and imprudent behaviour"

 

"Yeah, I guessed so. It would still be fun to see a Vulcan get drunk. God knows what you'd be like", Jim chuckled and set down a Thermos flask next to his bottle of Bourbon. "That's why I brought you some Vulcan Spice Tea. It's just sad to drink alone, you know?"

 

Spock opened his mouth in an attempt to comment on Jim's image of a drunk Vulcan but somehow found himself at loss for words, while Jim removed the cap from his Whiskey bottle and set the Thermos flask down across from himself. "Thank you, Jim"

 

Their first draws passed in silence, without either man feeling the need to speak. Spock was aware that most humans had an intense need for interaction and "small talk", but while his Captain was a talkative person himself, he seemed to enjoy their silence as much as their conversation. Spock could not deny that despite their rough start, something like a friendship between them had developed – which made the fact, that he had lost control and strangled his friend in front of the Crew, infinitely worse. After the isolating experiences he had made in his childhood, he had vowed to cherish any friend he might make in the future and with his violent outburst on the Bridge, he had violated this promise.

 

"Spock, it's your turn", Jim reminded Spock and tore him out of his dissociative state. "Are you okay?"

 

"I apologise", Spock said, somewhat embarrassed to have shown such weakness of mind in front of his Captain. He was aware that his mental control was slipping, judging by his immense difficulties during meditation, but not being able to focus on something as simple as a chess game had never happened before.

 

"Seriously Spock, are you alright?", Jim asked and took a sip from his whiskey with a concern so genuine Spock did not know how to respond. "You've been – weird lately"

 

"Would you elaborate on my 'weirdness'?", Spock demanded, perhaps sounding a little harsher than intended, as Jim's gaze became defensive and apologetic.

 

"Like, I know Vulcans are pretty private and everything. But ever since we finished the mission, you've been so isolated and withdrawn. I just wondered if there's anything you want to talk about", Jim offered and again, Spock was overwhelmed with the concern Jim displayed towards him.

 

Spock never estimated himself to be an accurate judge of character since he was largely unaware of human nature and could not comprehend concepts like sarcasm, lying or their thoroughly contradictory display of emotion. But James T. Kirk had been the most non-transparent, puzzling human he'd ever come across and there was very little he could gather about his personality that seemed logical. Spock could not comprehend the genuineness of Jim's concern for his wellbeing after Spock had shown him nothing but blatant disrespect, malintent and had physically assaulted him in front of his colleagues. He couldn't understand how he kept seeking out Spock's company after he had humiliated him in front of the entire Academy with his charge and Spock's clear withdrawal from anyone's company. But he could certainly not understand, how Jim displayed such kindness towards him after Spock had used his father's death against him to make a point.

 

"I assure you Captain, I am functioning adequately". Despite common perception, Spock was far from unfeeling and he did seek to confide in someone, to talk to someone about what weighed so heavily on his soul, just like his mother had always told him to. But his father's imperious upbringing had prohibited such endeavours and now, Spock did not know how to approach any possibility of sharing his grief.

 

"Yeah", Jim huffed sarcastically and took another sip of his whiskey. Perhaps alcohol on Jim had the same effect as meditating on Spock or talking about one's feeling on his mother? Spock made a mental note to further observe this hypothesis. "Spock, the whole Crew is worried about you. First your break-up with Uhura, then this complete isolation – nobody sees you anywhere anymore, except when you're working"

"My professional performance is exceptional, is it not?", Spock asked as he moved a pawn and didn't dare to look into his Captain's eyes, even though he could sense his gaze lingering on his First Officer.

 

"Sure, but –" "And the termination of my relationship with Lieutenant Uhura has not impacted my aforementioned performance negatively?" "No –" "And –"

 

"Spock!", Jim exclaimed, attempting to gain his First Officer's attention. He still held a chess piece in his hands and watched Spock intently, as if attempting to stare into his very soul.

"Spock", he repeated, much calmer. "I didn't mean to say your professional performance isn't as perfect as ever. It's just that there's more to your wellbeing than just being good at your job, I mean, you're a Vulcan! You could be going through the worst crisis of your life and it wouldn't impact your work negatively, for all I know. I'm just worried there's something bothering you _emotionally,_ that I may be able to help you with"

 

Spock's eyes were fixed on the chessboard between them, his hands comfortably warmed by the teacup in his hands as he contemplated his next words. He was certain, that, if he were to confide in his Captain, he would not judge him for such an unusual display of emotion and would keep Spock's concern to himself. But something deep within was reluctant to present himself like that, to make himself vulnerable.

 

"I must assure you again, that I am fine", Spock said firmly, hoping his friend would not press further, because if he would, Spock was not sure he could refuse a second time.

 

"I'm never gonna make you talk, am I?", Jim said with a smirk and stood up from his chair to throw out his empty bottle, unable to suppress a painful groan.

 

"Have your injuries not healed adequately?", Spock asked with a frown. He was confident in Doctor McCoy's medical abilities and did not doubt that he'd treated the Captain's extensive injuries well. But seeing that Jim still felt pain from his wounds raised Spock's suspicion.

 

"It's fine", Jim dismissed Spock's worry with a lazy wave. "Bones patched me up well enough, it just takes a little longer to heal, I guess. I'm not a spring chicken anymore, am I?"

 

"I fail to see what poultry has to do with your physical impairments"

 

"Idiom, Spock. I just meant to say I'm not that young anymore, I need a little longer to heal. It's fine, don't worry", Jim said and waved his hand again, before Spock had a chance to explain that twenty-six Earth years were not qualified to count as "not that young anymore". As they prepared a second game, Jim's PADD buzzed softly, accompanied by a sigh from the Captain.

 

"It's the Admiral", Jim mumbled, as he scrolled through the message on his PADD, a deep frown forming on his face. "She wants another conference. Right now"

 

_II._

"Admiral", Jim greeted her. "What can we do for you?"

 

"I need you to assemble a landing party as soon as possible. The Emperor of Alitheia has just informed Starfleet he is willing to participate in diplomatic negotiations with you, as long as it's on Alitheian grounds", the Admiral said with a lack of emotional display almost comparable to Spock's.

 

"You want us to go down tomorrow?", Jim asked incredulously, anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach. A tiny, painfully optimistic part in him had hoped they could postpone the mission for as long as possible.

 

"Preferably, yes", the Admiral answered impatiently. "I need you and your First Officer to meet the Emperor, convince him to join Starfleet, to ally with the Federation and abandon the Klingons"

 

"But Admiral, how are we supposed to convince them to do that if the Emperor himself is a Klingon? I've never met a species as loyal to their own and as stubborn as the Klingons, we can't just ask him to abandon his own species for the detested Federation if we can't offer them anything in return", Jim remarked, praying the Admiral would get his point. He'd never had a negotiation with the Klingons that didn't end with his own people injured or killed and he was as determined as ever to keep his Crew safe.

 

"Captain, we can offer them _anything_ in return. The planet is famished, their economy is factually non-existent and the riots won't come to an end anytime soon. Whatever we'll offer them, howsoever small, they'll jump at it like dogs", the Admiral said, sending a shiver down Jim's spine.

 

"Admiral", Spock addressed her and took a step forward, standing beside Jim. "What can we offer the Alitheians that the Klingons cannot? If it is our sole assignment to alienate them from their Klingon allies, we must offer something the Klingons cannot and according to my calculations, any economic relief that the Federation may provide, may also be provided by the Klingons"

 

The Admiral blatantly stared at Spock for several moments, before leaning forward in her chair and sighing deeply. She leaned back in her chair, folded her hands beneath her chin and let her gaze wander to an undetermined point behind Jim and Spock, not looking at them as she spoke again.

 

"You have to understand, Commander, that this is not about Alitheia or its people. This is a battle of principles, so to speak. It is true, that the Klingons can offer just as much to help the planet economically, but we cannot have them fraternise with the Klingons, do you understand? In times as unstable as nowadays, there is not a single planet we can lose to the enemies of the Federation"

 

"So this is not about humanitarian relief?", Jim asked dryly, his resentment for the Admiral growing with each word leaving her painted lips. "We're playing a power game with the Klingons"

 

"Precisely", she said with a broad smile, resting her chin on her hands and returning her gaze to Jim and Spock. "But it's not your assignment to interfere with the decisions of the Admiralty, it's your assignment to assemble a landing party to beam down tomorrow and make the Alitheians join the Federation."

 

"Yes, Ma'am", Jim said through slightly clenched teeth, not trusting himself to say anything else before snapping at her. As the screen went dark, he turned towards the door and briefly slapped Spock's shoulder as he passed him.

 

"Come on Spock, we gotta find some volunteers for a date with the friendly Klingon"

 

_III._

 

Alitheia's scorching heat weighed upon the landing team like a veil, its dusty air scratching in their throats as they forced their way towards the Palace. It wasn't only the planet's unusually humid and dry climate that left its flora barren and withered, but the famine's horrific extents were ubiquitous. Abandoned factories, wide fields of dried up wheat and rusted ploughs characterised the planet's landscape, indicating not only an entirely collapsed economy or the desperate food situation of the Alitheians, but foremost the painful disparity of people and government, as the image of the Emperor's Palace unfolded before their eyes. The Palace was nothing short of majestic; sublime onion-domed towers along the lines of 16th  Century Russian architecture, debaucherous archways and elaborately dressed guards on each corner of the Palace. Under the vine stock-shaped, golden archway leading towards the Palace's double door, stood Emperor Ra'Khoi; his appearance was just as disconcerting and odd as the Admiral's syrupy-sweet smile had been. He was dressed in traditional Klingon robes; heavy black leather and a broad, steel collar concealing him from their watchful eyes. While his piercing blue eyes remained emotionless, the deep rills and countless iron rings pierced through various parts of his face conveyed hostility and threat.

 

"Damn it, Jim. You sure we gotta negotiate with him?", Leonard mumbled, his worried gaze not leaving the Klingon standing beneath the archway. "He seems like the kind of Klingon to break your arms like twigs if you breathe in the wrong direction"

 

"We don't have a choice, Bones", Jim answered. With every step he took towards the Palace, the fear raging through his veins intensified. "All we have to do is convince him to abandon his own people and join the Federation. Piece of cake, right?"

 

Leonard raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but didn't comment further. He had always known, that one way or another Starfleet would be the death of him, but he ought to say he'd prefer to die honourably in battle, rather than at the hands of some resentful Klingon in a castle.

 

"Emperor Ra'Khoi", Jim greeted the Klingon, his chin raised and eyes kept firmly on his counterpart. Leonard had known Jim long enough to recognise the signs of fear and tension; he rarely blinked, his jaw was clenched and his breathing grew shallow. "It's my honour"

 

"The pleasure is all mine, Captain Kirk", the Emperor replied. His address as _Captain Kirk_ was stretched ridiculously, as if playing around with the term but with a surprising lack of hostility. "I see you've brought your landing party."

 

"Yes", Jim scrambled as if he'd been torn out of his train of thought, turning around to face his Crew. "This is Commander Spock – my First Officer –, Leonard McCoy – my CMO – and these are Ensign Al-Ansari and Ensign Goldberg. I assume you're aware of the nature of our meeting?"

 

"Yes, Captain", the Emperor said, after briefly nodding to each member of the landing party, with a small smile that seemed so out of place to Jim, like a dog walking on its hind legs. "I informed your Admiral Yelchukova, that I am prepared to consider diplomatic ties with the Federation. Would you prefer to have our negotiation inside the Palace?"

 

"I guess it wouldn't hurt to take a look at the landscape first, would it? This way, my First Officer can gather some information about its properties", Jim suggested with a remainder of cautiousness the presence of Klingons inevitably elicited from him. The Emperor simply nodded and gestured for Jim to lead the way.

 

"Tell me, Captain", Ra'Khoi began after they had walked long enough for the Palace's paramount towers to disappear behind the horizon. "What is it about my planet that attracts the Federation? We have nothing to offer you. Our economic capacities have been entirely destroyed by the famine, our government is not as stable as I'd like it to be and we relied mainly on agriculture, and we could therefore offer very little in return for your Federation's alliance"

 

"Diplomatic ties with your people are not for the purpose of exploiting your economy. While you may not have any economic means to contribute to the prosperity of the Federation, you can give us your alliance and your loyalty, which has become more and more important over the last years", Jim began, fixing his gaze on the dried soil beneath his dusty boots. "In return for your loyalty, we will do anything within our power to help your planet and your people to overcome this harrowing famine"

"Hm", the Emperor huffed in reply, apparently carefully considering Jim's words. "So, you tell me that the Federation does not want anything else than our loyalty? Can you guarantee that?"

 

Jim unobtrusively smirked to himself at this display of typical Klingon scepticism towards the Federation.

 

"I can't guarantee what will happen after we've given your economy a leg-up, but right now, I can guarantee that the Federation wants nothing more than your loyalty". Of course that wasn't true. Jim knew that the Federation wanted more than simply their loyalty; they wanted Alitheia to join the Federation specifically to dig at the Klingons, to establish their dominance.

 

The Emperor didn't respond for a while, raising his chin and clenching his jaw continuously, considering what Jim offered. He took a deep breath and fixed his gaze to the soil beneath his feet as well, briefly wrinkling his nose, before he let his gaze wander over the withered horizon and sighed deeply.

 

"My people have suffered, Captain Kirk", he began, thoughtfully. The Emperor was so unlike any Klingon Jim had ever met, that he was unsure whether to trust the genuinely-sounding concern or to be wary of him like he'd been conditioned over the years. "I couldn't bear exposing them to any more of the Federation's projects, only to have them disappointed again"

 

"Federation's projects, Sir?", Jim asked with a frown, carefully observing the Emperor, whose gaze hadn't left the horizon.

 

"Are you aware of how our famine developed?". Jim only shook his head, suddenly feeling entirely inappropriate for not having informed himself earlier.

 

"Before they instated me as Emperor, Alitheia prospered. While we relied mainly on agriculture, we produced enough to ensure self-subsistence. Our economic rank wasn't very high, but we never starved and we had enough to feed ourselves, our children, our elderly. Then, the Federation seized the majority of our wheat- and cornfields to cultivate a new type of crop they'd developed", the Emperor took a deep breath, as if to ease an oncoming wave of anger. "They assured us the crops would triple our production, so that we could export our surplus. While we had no interest in participating in any marking mechanism, the Federation sent troops to forcibly expropriate our farmers and seize our fields, replanting them with their crops and forcing the farmers to give the surplus we generated to the Federation. This was decades ago, of course, but it was the go-ahead for our riots". As Ra'Khoi told the story, Jim didn't dare look at the Emperor. He didn't know if it was the heat of the planet or his own panic making him feel like he was burning from the inside; nausea came in violent waves, the familiarity of the Emperor's story activating his fight-or-flight response.

"A couple of years and rulers later, the artificial super-crops attacked our own. They'd been treated with chemicals to enhance their growth, but unfortunately, said chemical obliterated our wheat and corn. The Federation's crops kept growing and growing, until the core temperature of our planet destroyed them as well. We had no crops of our own because they'd been contaminated with a chemical we didn't have an antidote for and the Federation's crops were destroyed by our planet's heat. Our agriculture collapsed and our industrial sector wasn't efficient or developed enough to sustain eighty million people. Almost two thirds of the population died within the last three decades and there's no improvement foreseeable. So, I guess it's understandable that I don't wholeheartedly trust the Federation", Ra'Khoi said, looking at Jim with wariness, but still no hostility.

 

Jim felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. Not only hadn't he ever thought the Federation capable of causing a famine killing millions of people without reparation measures, but it all sounded _so familiar._ For the second time in two days, he felt his heartbeat in his entire body. His palms were sweaty and his chest felt like collapsing, as if his heart would burst out of his ribcage and collapse simultaneously. His vision blurred, his mouth felt dry and he felt his legs giving way, as strong hands caught him before he collided with the dried-out desert ground.

 

"Jim?", Leonard called, his grounding voice sounding muted. He felt Leonard patting his cheeks in an attempt to regain his focus. His blurry vision cleared; he lay on the hard ground with Spock's, Leonard's and the Emperor's worried gazes directed at Jim's crumpled form on the floor.

 

"'M fine, sorry", Jim apologised, attempting to sit up.

 

"Nothing to worry", the Emperor said and stretched out his gloved hand, helping Jim get back to his feet. "Not many are accustomed to this heat"

 

"Not a great first impression, huh?", Jim joked and brushed off the dust from his shirt and trousers. "I _had_ meant to dazzle you with my charms, but fainting like a damsel in distress isn't really my style"

 

The Emperor laughed briefly and slapped Jim's back in a friendly manner, though with much more strength than Jim had expected, before continuing to walk as if nothing had happened.

 

"I have to admit I was unaware of what the Federation did to your people", Jim said, determined to quench the tiny bubble of anxiety left in his chest. "With diplomatic relations to the Federation, I'm sure you will not only resolve your planet's issues, but you will also receive reparation payments. Whatever the Federation has done, they will answer for their actions and with your cooperation, we can assure that nothing like that ever happens to another planet again"

 

The Emperor let his gaze wander up and down Jim's body, as if attempting to assess his trustworthiness, before nodding briefly and turning towards Leonard and Spock, who seemed to be walking much closer to Jim than before.

 

"If it's not too much trouble for you, I'd like to invite you to the Palace tomorrow to elaborate on my conditions for alliance with the Federation and Starfleet. You and your First Officer are very much welcome to join me", Ra'Khoi said with a brief smile, before shaking their hands and making his way back to his Palace.

 

"Scotty", Jim spoke into his communicator, already looking forward to his replicator and a pleasant temperature. "Beam us up, please"

 

"Aye, Sir", Scotty answered, as Jim already felt the familiar tingle of dematerialisation.


	3. night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter doesn't really add anything to the plot, I simply wanted to explore and establish the relationship between Jim and Spock at this time of the story. It's a short little illustration of where they are mentally and especially of Jim's ongoing mental issues.  
> After this chapter you'll get some action, I promise, and from then on we'll jump right into the actual plot!

_I._

_All Jim felt was the biting, excruciating cold forcing its way through his thick winter jacket. Icy squalls left his sweaty skin painfully frozen as he attempted not to slip on Delta Vega's frozen ground, to run, to escape from the Hengrauggi sticking to Jim's heels. He heard his blood pumping in his ears, a concoction of adrenaline and imminent mortal fear fuelling his every step, telling him to run, to run, to **run,** but his feet wouldn't obey; no matter how hard he tried to run away from the colossal creature shrieking behind him, Jim felt like he was running in slow motion, frozen to the ground, unable to flee, to move, to do anything except watch as the Hengrauggi caught up with him and tore its mouth open – until the layers of ice, snow and frozen soil beneath Jim's feet began to melt, creating a permeable shroud through which he fell into enveloping darkness. _

_Before Jim hit the ground, the reflection of endless snow and ice blinded him; he'd found himself in the same spot he'd been before, kneeling on the evenly frozen grown, staring at the glaringly clear sky. Somewhere along the way Jim had started crying, uncontrollable, excruciating sobs clawing their way out of his throat with no sound to be heard. His frozen fingers dug into the ground in an attempt to find something to hold onto, to keep him from crumbling, collapsing, falling; scratching at the ice until the crimson blood of his fingers mixed with the pristine white of Delta Vega's snow, imperceptible tears streaming down his frozen cheeks. "Watch", an accusing but familiar voice said and though it appeared to belong to nobody at all, Jim heard the voice echoing inside his head, feeling the harsh baritone rushing through his veins. Jim's head involuntarily turned towards the sky, forcing his swollen eyes to watch to the tragedy unfolding before his eyes._

_He saw the planet crumbling to pieces, collapsing like a house of cards and Jim heard the screams of millions of dying Vulcans inside his head, clutching his ears with new sobs escaping his chapped lips. The agony of countless deaths and immeasurable heartbreak weighed upon his shoulders, it pushed him down to the frozen ground, his head colliding with the layers of ice beneath his feet, incomparable pain and sorrow coursing through his body. "Watch like I had to", the baritone voice whispered inside Jim's head. "And see what you've done"._

When Jim awoke, the tears hadn't stopped flowing yet. Agonising, involuntary tears trickled down his temples and pooled around his neck before they dripped down onto his damp mattress. In an attempt to calm his pounding heart, Jim closed his eyes and took deep breaths, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing in a futile attempt to quench the paralysing fear dulling his senses. Jim's nightmares never made him melodramatically jolt up in his bed, breathing heavily with his eyes wide open, but rather left him paralysed with fear and a disobeying body, panic clouding his sense of reality and his blood pounding in his ears.

 

Jim rested his head against the headboard of his bed; the tears had abated and his pulse had slowed down but the agonisingly raw emotion of his dream was as prevalent as ever. He drew another shaky breath as he recalled the images in his head like his therapist had taught him back when he'd been a terrified young boy in an abusive home, with nothing to keep him company but his alcoholic father, the moths in his ragged clothes and Iowa's cornfields. Recalling, cataloguing and understanding his dreams was so wonderfully analytical and manageable, Jim almost felt comfortable with the fact he'd had to share them with an unfamiliar person years ago who would act like they understood what Jim felt and thought, as if he wasn't entirely damaged beyond repair.

 

Not prepared for the mental and emotional exhaustion a recollection of his dream would inflict upon him, Jim sighed quietly and disentangled himself from his crumpled bed sheets, the cold bedroom floor slowly bringing Jim back into reality; he tentatively opened the alabaster glass door leading to his shared bathroom with Spock and turned on the light to fifteen percent, just enough to see where he was going but hopefully not enough to wake his First Officer – God knows, at least one officer on this ship had to function properly, Jim thought bitterly, and Spock certainly deserved to rest more than he did.

_And see what you've done._

The quintessence of his dream came crashing down on him again, drowning him in tidal waves of guilt, grief and remorse; Jim crept towards the sink and dug his fingers into the porcelain, attempting to handle the oncoming flood of emotions.

 

There was no way he could continue having such melodramatic breakdowns in the middle of the night; he had a ship to command, he had his Crew to take care of and he was selfish enough to let his nightmares get to him, making him sob like a child in front of his bathroom mirror at the crack of dawn. Jim _knew_ his night terrors were something beyond his control and while they hadn't interfered with his ability to command the Enterprise yet, he couldn't overcome the debilitating feeling that he was to blame for what happened to Vulcan, to Spock and to his Crew. He'd heard it a million times, but the guilt was eating him alive and there was nothing he could do about it, not even Leonard's sleeping pills were able to provide him with peaceful sleep, undisturbed by the images of burning Vulcan children and blood-stained snow.

 

Jim turned on the water tap and let the freezing water soothe his skin which felt like it was burning from the inside out, when he heard the door lock of the opposite bathroom door open with a soft clicking sound.

 

"Captain, are you unwell?", Spock asked quietly as if trying not to startle Jim. "It is unwise to be awake at this hour of the morning."

 

A dimmed light from Spock's quarters silhouetted his First Officer. While he stood as rigidly straight as was usual, his right hand loosely held his left forearm in such an uncharacteristic manner, which left Jim unable to tear his eyes away from him: he wore plain blue pyjama trousers and a black tee shirt, his slightly dishevelled hair indicating he must've woken up only moments ago with faint creases from his pillow on his face. Spock's appearance was not surprising judging by the hour of the night but it was nevertheless so unlike the compulsively impeccable, unblemished image Spock presented to the world, so unguarded and _human,_ that Jim couldn't help but blatantly stare at his First Officer.

 

"That almost sounds like you're concerned", Jim said with a smirk, drying his cold hands and turning towards Spock, who had shut the bathroom door behind him and had taken a tentative step towards Jim. "I didn't mean to wake you"

 

"Vulcans require far less sleep than humans, an unforeseen awakening will not be an impairment. Nevertheless I insist you return to your quarters. It is imprudent for a human to rest for 3.6 hours". Jim would usually be grateful for Spock's facts-based advice and his analytical neutrality, but this remark made Jim snort bitterly, slightly shaking his head as he turned towards the mirror and regarded his tired face with disgust.

 

"I'm aware, Spock. I can't sleep", Jim croaked. It wasn't in his nature to be blunt about his feelings and his fallibility, but the peaceful calm of the night tore down his defences like papier mâché walls: there was no point in lying to someone who could read Jim like an open book. It appeared the shielding anonymity of the night had a similar effect on Spock, who took another step towards Jim's hunched figure.

 

"Would you like me to send for Doctor McCoy?", Spock offered with an odd sincerity seeping through his words. Jim shook his pounding head frantically, not quite daring to look at Spock again.

 

"No, God", he breathed, an involuntary bitter chuckle escaping his lips.

"I couldn't wake him up, just for –", Jim made a vague gesture with his hands. "For nothing, you know? He's under so much stress right now, I can't keep running to him for every little thing"

"Night terrors are mental phenomena in need of urgent medical and psychological attention. Since Doctor McCoy is qualified in both vocational fields he proves to be the only logical contact partner".

 

"Wait, night – Did you wake up because you ... because you _heard_ me?", Jim asked incredulously and couldn't help but turning his gaze to Spock, intense embarrassment creeping up his spine as Spock inclined his head in affirmation. It was humiliating enough to experience such nightmares in the first place, but to have his First Officer – _and friend?_ – witness such weakness made Jim's skin crawl. "Jesus, Spock, I'm so sorry"

 

"There is no need to apologise, Jim. Night terrors are not uncommon amongst humans, eminently after experiencing trauma", Spock said matter-of-factly, igniting a flame of anger in the pit of Jim's stomach. How could Spock act like it wasn't entirely unprofessional to wail and sob in one's sleep like a blubbering infant, waking one's First Officer in the process – who'd been through much more trauma anyways – and then have a theatrical breakdown in the shared bathroom while listening to how it's _not his fault?_ Jim didn't know why he directed his anger at Spock or why every time someone who meant something to him approached his emotions Jim erupted in unjustified anger, but Spock's neutral description of Jim's weakness made his blood boil.

 

"Don't you ever suffer, Spock?", Jim asked angrily before he could stop the word slipping off his malicious tongue. "Doesn't it bother you at all?"

 

"I do not understand"

 

Jim ran his hands across his face and averted his gaze, trying to look at everything but his First Officer in front of him who had been concerned enough for Jim's well being to sacrifice his sleep, to stand barefooted on the freezing bathroom tiles with him, and who would be the next victim of Jim's feral, defensive rage.

 

"Doesn't it bother you to look at me every day and see the man who lost your planet? Who lost your mother, countless millions of Vulcan lives, and who now has the audacity to have _nightmares_ about it?", Jim hissed, taking a step towards Spock.

"Do you never – have you never been angry, like, that kind of anger that's not directed at anything, that has no origin and no purpose except to eat you alive and spit you out again? I don't understand, Spock, I don't understand it. Why am I the only one on this ship who can't shut their eyes for a minute before reliving each and every personal failure in their dreams even though I don't think about anything else during the day either?"

 

The cracking of Jim's hoarse voice interrupted his relentless rambling, the insatiable need to vocalise what's been raging inside his head for weeks. It wasn't fair to treat Spock the way he did, Jim knew it perfectly well, but he couldn't contain the steady stream of accusations, of harrowing pain leaving his lips.

 

"I'm sorry, Spock", Jim whispered after what felt like an eternity of silence. "I shouldn't have spoken to you that way, forgive me".

 

"I do, Jim", Spock answered unexpectedly, his calm baritone diffusing the electric tension lingering between them. "I have, and I continue to, experience such sorrow. The agony inextricably linked to the loss of Mother and Vulcan was something I have never experienced with such intensity and such persistence, and I can assure you, that you are not the only one haunted by what we have witnessed."

 

"Do you have nightmares too?", Jim asked, finally feeling the burning anger in his veins calm down.

 

"Intense meditation and the practice of suppressing one's emotions have prohibited Vulcans from dreaming the way humans do; what the human subconscious processes in dreams, the Vulcan mind processes through meditating", Spock explained matter-of-factly, even though Jim could sense his discomfort from across the room. "Yet I cannot deny the effect these past experiences have inflicted upon me"

 

"I'm sorry I tore you out of bed just to have a corny midnight conversation with me", Jim said with a soft smile, leaning his head on a towel rail next to him. "I promise to make it up to you with some Plomeek soup tomorrow."

 

"There is no need to 'make up' for anything, Jim. It is my duty as a First Officer and as your friend to assure your well-being, one which I am pleased to fulfil", Spock answered, his dark eyes glistening with what Jim came to understand as a smile. "Nevertheless, I strongly advise you to see Doctor McCoy about your insomnia and your night terrors. As it is my duty to assure your well-being, it is likewise your duty to assure your own"

 

"Are you giving me orders, Commander?", Jim asked with a smile.

 

"Perhaps an amicable suggestion", Spock said, making Jim chuckle softly.

 

"Sure", Jim said with a lopsided smile. "Try to get some sleep, though. I need you on the Bridge tomorrow."

 

Spock inclined his head again and left the bathroom, softly shutting the door behind him. As he heard the quiet baritone command the lights to zero percent, Jim found himself in absolute darkness enveloping him, as he leaned his head against the towel rail once more and briefly closed his eyes, the oppressing weight on his shoulders lighter than ever.


	4. lilac.

_I._

Jim's meeting with the Admiral had gone as poorly as expected.

 

As he crept the corridors of the Enterprise, his back hunched and shoulders slumped in an increasingly familiar yet uncharacteristically withdrawn manner, he couldn't help but let his mind wander. It was not only the prospect of beaming down to Alitheia on his own fuelling his pervasive anxiety, but perhaps even more so the prospect of having to interact with Spock again. Whenever emotionally uncomfortable situations arose, Jim would take to avoiding them as much as possible; but with Spock as his First Officer there was no possibility to avoid the awkwardness of having to approach him as if nothing had happened, as if Spock didn't have enough leverage to have him declared unfit for duty or to humiliate him in front of his Crew – he hadn't meant to act up the way he'd done the night before and he certainly hadn't meant for Spock to witness him in such a state.

 

Jim subtly shook his head to stifle the flood of emotions and intrusive thoughts threatening to possess itself of his fragile mind, as he focused on the soft sound of doors opening, the sterile smell and blinding lights of Sickbay numbing his senses.

 

"Bones?", Jim called tentatively, looking around the strangely deserted Sickbay. A faint and rather uninviting grunt sounding from Leonard's office tugged at the corner Jim's lips as he opened the door, the smirk on his face deepening at the sight of his friend; his back was hunched and his brows were furrowed, the frameless reading glasses intensifying his focused glance on the periodical in front of him. "Reading anything interesting?"

 

"Not really", Leonard answered absentmindedly, not looking up from his reading. "I've had what feels like half the Crew in here within the past week, whining and moaning about headaches and mood swings. They didn't appreciate me telling them to suck it up, so I'm trying to find out what to do with them"

 

"Well, you've never been the most empathetic doctor", Jim answered, an amused smile dancing on his lips. Leonard snorted sarcastically and closed the periodical, massaging his temples.

 

"They deserved it", he answered, as he turned to look at Jim and raised an eyebrow in question, his eyes wandering up and down Jim's body as if attempting to check for any injuries, any indication as to why Jim would seek him out voluntarily yet again. "I guess you're not here to chat"

 

"Well, no, not really. I need another blister of your pills, the first one didn't help at all", Jim muttered and shifted uncomfortably, desperately trying not to meet his friend's gaze lingering on him. He clenched his fists and tightened his jaw, pushing down the flood of shame rising in his body. His mind felt like a hamster wheel; he'd keep having nightmares because he was ashamed and afraid, then he'd seek out his friend for sleeping pills, making him ashamed and afraid once more, which would rob him of his sleep again – it was a vicious circle he didn't know how to overcome.

 

"I'm not giving you any more, kid", Leonard said, the hardness in his voice leaving no possibility for negotiation. "Those pills were meant to make you catch up on sleep and to get you into the right state of mind, so that you can finally tell me what's going on with you. If you're not gonna tell me anything, I can't help you". Jim exhaled audibly; how he _hated_ it, that Leonard was always right.

 

"You really wanna play therapist?", Jim asked dryly accompanied by a humourless laugh, as he sat down in an uncomfortable chair across from Leonard. "And didn't you fail your first psych exam anyways?"

 

"Yes", Leonard answered, both his brows raised. "But only because I thought every case could've pulled themselves together. I haven't been blind these past months, Jim, if I thought you were faking it I wouldn't insist on you telling me"

 

Jim sighed again and stared at the grey wall behind Leonard, repressed childhood memories resurfacing. How many times had he been in this situation before; a stranger, someone pretending to care about him, trying to get him to reveal his innermost emotions, his tortured mind, his worries and fears and everything that left Jim unable to breathe in the late hours of the night. In his naiveté, his childish hope that someone would care, would help him cope, he would turn himself from the inside out, expose his mind – only to be discarded again, dropped like a piece of dirt, and left with nothing but another angry belt's red weal on his back and another reason to never open up to anyone ever again.

 

"I told you I couldn't sleep and your pills didn't really help", Jim began, shrugging softly. "I fell asleep easier, but I still can't sleep through the night and they don't help with the – the nightmares either"

 

Leonard furrowed his brows again, deep lines of worry forming on his tired face. His dark eyes were fixed on Jim, as if trying to ease his friend past the trouble of explaining his sorrow and figuring out Jim's enigmatic mind himself. Jim felt exposed under Leonard's gaze, instantly regretting the first step towards his truth and while every fibre in his body resisted against revealing his mind, against the inevitable vulnerability, it felt like Jim's floodgates had opened and the relentless stream of words would leave him powerless, unable to stop the words falling from his lips.

 

"I thought you told me your nightmares had improved", Leonard mumbled. "How frequently do you have them?"

 

"Every other night, I guess", Jim huffed powerlessly. "Maybe – uh, I don't know. Five times a week, perhaps"

 

"Tell me about them ", Leonard encouraged him, a tender undertone behind his harsh Southern drawl calming Jim's mind. His eyes were focused on his folded hands underneath the table, his deflated posture leaving him feeling like a child again, drowning in the vastness of his therapist's leathern wing chair. "What are they usually about?"

 

"I don't know, I only remember the – the worst of them. It's not always the same, but most of the stuff I dream about is recurrent, like, underlying themes and everything. It usually starts on Delta Vega", Jim spoke and attempted to calm his quivering voice, ignoring the darkness in Leonard's eyes as he spoke about where Spock had abandoned him. Jim didn't blame Spock for leaving him there; he probably would've done the same. "Then something chases me, but it's not always the same. Sometimes it's creatures I saw on the planet, sometimes it's people"

 

"Who?", Leonard asked, his voice dangerously calm. Jim chewed his lower lip until it drew blood, torn between wanting to open up to his friend and feeling like a traitor to his Crew if he were to speak of the true nature of his dreams.

 

"Spock, usually", Jim confessed. "Sometimes it's another member of the Crew and sometimes it's – it's you, or Ambassador Spock. But something is always chasing me before I fall through the floor and end up on the exact same spot. These parts never change. Then I –", Jim swallowed thickly, the recollection of his dreams leaving his chest tight. "I have to watch how Nero destroys Vulcan or how the Enterprise burns or something else happens and I'm on this _goddamn_ planet, unable to do anything about it. I just –", Jim threw his hands in the air, no true strength behind his motion. "I have to watch them die, I have to watch the planet destroy itself and all I do is stand by and do nothing"

 

Leonard watched his friend intently and leaned back in his chair, his hands still folded underneath his chin in such a bizarre manner Jim would've laughed, if the situation hadn't made it so entirely inappropriate.

 

"You wanna hear what I think?", Leonard spoke after what felt like an eternity. "I think you're _still_ blaming yourself for what happened months ago and for whatever reason, the thought alone of letting go of your guilt causes you even more distress. It's nothing I wouldn't have expected, but what I don't understand is why Spock, I and the Crew seem to chase you – why people who care about you and who respect you have such negative connotations in your subconscious, that your dream have us hunt you down"

 

"If you won't brand me as unfit for duty, I'll tell you why", Jim offered, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

 

"I wouldn't dare to"

 

"I think it's this mission, on Alitheia", Jim began cautiously. "I can't fail this Crew again, Bones, and I'm – I'm scared. These people are under my protection, they have family and friends waiting for them back home and if I fail again ... they're gonna turn on me and they're gonna blame me for what happened. This planet, this mission, this Emperor, they all scare the hell out of me and I can't afford to be scared"

 

"What is it that scares you?", Leonard asks after several moments of heavy silence. "Are you afraid something will go wrong?"

 

"Yes", Jim breathed, huffing humourlessly. "I don't know what to expect and everything feels so _wrong_. I don't know why I'm supposed to go down there alone with Spock, it doesn't make sense, I just have this horrible feeling something's gonna go wrong and I don't know _why._ What kind of Captain am I, if I'm always whining like a child?"

 

"Jim, what makes you a great Captain isn't that you're not afraid. What makes you exceptional is that you manage to overcome your fear, to push past what hinders you to ensure your Crew's safety. Don't beat yourself up for what makes you human"

 

"Jesus", Jim replied and chuckled quietly, trying to diffuse the heavy tension. "No wonder you failed that exam, you're a terrible therapist"

 

"Thank God I ain't your therapist then", Leonard replied. "I couldn't cope with your melodrama anyways"

 

Jim went silent for a while with a content smile still lingering on his lips, contemplating whether to tell Leonard about what had happened with Spock the night before. While it might be beneficial for Leonard's assessment of Jim's mental state, something made him refrain from revealing what had happened; the moment they shared had been so immensely private, so unusually sentimental, that Jim was sure Spock wouldn't appreciate it if someone else knew.

 

"I'd better go", Jim said eventually. "Spock and I need to beam down to the planet soon."

 

_II._

As the tingling sensation of dematerialisation abated the immense heat descended upon him like a veil, seemingly distant memories of their first visit resurfacing in the form of a rapidly accelerating heart beat and sweaty palms of which Jim didn't know whether to accredit them to the humidity or his debilitating panic.

The Emperor had granted them the privilege of beaming down closer to the Palace, apparently in an attempt to spare them from the massive energy expenditure a trek through the desert landscape and Alitheia's scorching heat would mean for them. While his First Officer was undoubtedly comfortable with the higher temperatures, Jim felt as if the stifling dusty air had knocked the oxygen out of his lungs, leaving him as withered as the soil beneath his boots.

 

"Captain", the Emperor greeted them, his rough voice in a stark contrast to the amicable slap on Jim's shoulder, the corners of his eyes crinkling with suppressed smiles. "What a pleasure to see you again, and your First Officer, too!"

 

Jim smirked at Spock and turned back to the Emperor, effortlessly falling back into his role as a diplomat largely reliant on his charms. Despite his undeniable expertise, Jim was well aware of the quirked eyebrows, the sniggering and sarcastic snorting whenever he returned to Earth with another diplomatic success; he knew what Starfleet and the public thought about him, he knew of the rumours about Jim sleeping around and flirting his way to success. He used to pride himself on how little he cared about what others thought of him, but the longer Jim captained the Enterprise and the greater the importance of his captaincy became for him personally, the less he could pretend they didn't hurt.

 

"Pleasure is all mine, Emperor", Jim answered, a feeling of a déjà vu creeping up on him. "I've been looking forward to our cooperation and – of course – to your excellent company"

 

"Captain Kirk, as charming as ever, I see", the Emperor remarked, a hint of humour behind his harsh exterior. "Your reputation precedes you, you know?"

 

"My reputation?", Jim asked, the false surprise so prevalent in his voice he wouldn't even believe himself as he joined the Emperor, leading their way through the elegantly curved gateways towards his Palace.

 

"Your charms are infamous, Captain, but I've never been a friend of preconceptions I haven't had the chance to question myself anyways"

 

"Very wise", Jim acknowledged, his anxiety fading slowly but surely. "I assume we're on our way to a conference room for the negotiations? My First Officer and I would like to take a look at the surroundings again, you see, for Starfleet protocol and a scientific report Mister Spock needs to prepare"

 

Hadn't Jim been so proficient at reading people, he would've missed the briefly clenched jaw and the tight fists of his counterpart as soon as he mentioned Starfleet. Jim couldn't deny, that the story the Emperor had told them during their first visit hadn't shaken him to his core, haunted his dreams and suffused his mind with conflicting thoughts.

 

"You and your First Officer will certainly have the time to finish your protocols and reports, but before we begin our negotiations I had planned a small gathering", the Emperor answered as soon as he'd composed himself again, the tightness in his voice still lingering in the scorching midday air. "I thought it imprudent to invite you to our planet twice without at least offering you some traditional Alitheian cuisine. Our options are limited, obviously, but our kitchen staff are true magicians"

 

Their remaining trek towards the palace passed in comfortable silence. As they strode through the overpowering golden doors, chilling air met Jim's burning skin, the vastness of the Emperor's palace leaving him feeling as small as he hadn't felt in a long time. The entrance hall consisted of two opposing circular stairs, white marble floors and an enormous chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, a foyer feeling like an old-money 1920's mansion. As Jim strode through the intimidatingly noble entrance hall, the knowledge of figuratively turning his back on a famine-stricken planet and starving people lay heavily in the pit of his empty stomach.

 

_III._

 

Emperor Ra'Khoi's _small_ gathering had turned out to be quite the opposite; not only had they dined in a knight's hall with ebony tables, black marble adornments and worryingly gaunt servants, but they'd been presented with the finest cuisine Jim had tasted in a while and a suspiciously amicable negotiation. After their gathering, the Emperor had granted them permission to finish their scientific reports and their Starfleet protocols, leaving them to trudge through Alitheia's consistently parched landscape.

 

Though it must be late afternoon by the time they'd left the Palace, Alitheia's scorching sun didn't seem to set soon, it's voracious heat descending upon them, leaving every breath passing their lips dusty and dry. As Jim listened to the pitiful crunching of plants under his boots and the soothing sounds of Spock's tricorder, their previous negotiation replayed in his mind like one of his mother's scratched vinyl records. The Emperor's terms had been suspiciously meagre, asking for nothing but non-interference from Starfleet and maintenance of their protectionist economy once they recovered from the famine; countless years of a naïve belief in unconditional altruism, in an exception from humanity's boundless egocentrism, selfishness and ubiquitous betrayal had taught him scepticism whenever someone would offer him a lot and request very little in return. Not his charms and flirtatious banter, but his traumatic caution and gut feeling had guided him in his previous diplomatic missions.

 

Caught up in his spiralling mind, Jim absentmindedly turned his gaze downwards towards the ocherous soil beneath his dusty leather boots, stepping on dried plants pushing their way through the withered ground and feebly kicking away occasional rocks. His collision with a solid mass tore him out of his thoughts, watching his First Officer leap to his feet from a crouching position and taking several alarmed steps backwards, the herbarium specimen still clenched in his fist.

 

"Sorry, Spock!", Jim scrambled to apologise, praying to God he hadn't blushed. "I zoned out for a second and forgot you were there"

 

"Do not worry, Captain", Spock assured Jim and brushed bits of dust from his uniform. "Perhaps I should have indicated my presence more clearly, as I am aware of your susceptibility to 'zone out'"

 

"I hope I didn't ruin your plant?", Jim asked cautiously, pointing to the withered specimen akin to thistles in Spock's hand.

 

"By no means", Spock answered and picked up the tricorder he'd set down next to himself, quickly scanning the readings as he meticulously stored away the plant. "This particular specimen of _Antirrhinum periclymenoides_ is by far the most resistant sample I have examined. Though the readings indicate a comprehensive absence of water or mineral supply for an unascertainable timescale, vegetation was neither prevented nor inhibited"

 

Jim furrowed his brows and crossed his arms in front of his chest as he carefully processed the information Spock had provided him with, refusing to allow the treacherous feeling of hope suffusing his body.

 

"So, what you're saying is, that this plant managed to survive on this planet without any minerals or any water, despite this inhumane heat and their famine?"

 

"Precisely, Captain"

 

"Do you think other plants could do the same?", Jim asked bluntly, chewing his lip. "If you took other samples and found the same results, do you think the famine could be contained? Do you know what we could do with this, Spock!"

"Captain, I must remind you that 42.8 minutes ago you avouched to the Emperor in a morally binding manner the non-interference of Starfleet. In contempt of impracticality, such interventionism would not be tolerated by the Alitheians", Spock said, his accusatory eyebrow giving voice to the thoughts his Vulcan pride prevented him from saying. "Prior to your suggestion I had gathered and thoroughly examined another specimen, confirming my suspicions that the continuous thrift of _Antirrhinum periclymenoides_ is but a mere – coincidence, one which I am not yet able to understand."

 

"A coincidence, Mister Spock?", Jim said with a smirk, sudden warmth replacing the omnipresent anxiety in the pit of his stomach. "You dare believe in coincidences? I believe it's rather – human, don't you think?"

 

"Had I wished for such harsh insults, I would have called for Doctor McCoy. He, too, seems intriguingly eager to point out my humanity", Spock said, his neutral expression pitifully attempting to hide the humorous sparkle in his dark brown eyes, as he turned his back towards his beaming Captain and continued their trek.

 

 _IV._  

For what felt like an eternity, they wandered in comfortable silence; the sun had slowly begun to set, reducing the scorching heat to a pleasant humidity and softly illuminating the remote mountaintops on the horizon. By the time the sun had disappeared halfway behind mountain ridges and withered, hollow trees, they had reached a deserted village.

A very few wooden houses disrupted the uniform landscape, the ignominy of famine, hunger and despair lingering in the wooden slats. Most homes were rotten, their laths dismantled and their roofs collapsed, the only proof of previous human population the rusted letter boxes and an abandoned, bizarrely misplaced rocking horse in the midst of a well-trodden path.

 

"Jesus", Jim mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else, an overwhelming sense of dread slowly creeping up on him. "What happened here?" He knew perfectly well what had happened to the village, to those people – they had suffered the same fate thousands had suffered before; the same fate Jim had escaped so narrowly, under such grave sacrifices and which continued to haunt him in his darkest nights.

 

Jim's eyes wandered towards Spock; though his Vulcan pride would not allow him an overt outburst of emotion, his clenched jaw and shoulders, the emptiness in his dark brown eyes and they way his knuckles went white as he tightly gripped his tricorder.

How often had Jim wondered about the depth of Vulcan emotions – admittedly, he rarely thought about this particular subject when he was sober – and had, over the course of their cooperation and friendship, come to a basic understanding for Spock's emotional expression; Jim knew Spock's violent assault on the bridge all those months ago didn't represent the fundamentally pacifistic, thoroughly proscribed, principles of Vulcans and of his friend in particular. How virtuous and how defiant it was, Jim thought, to remain peaceful in the face of ubiquitous violence, to resist their age of savagery.

 

"I believe I must disappoint you once more", Spock said hesitantly, not quite daring to tear his gaze away from his tricorder to look at their gruelling surroundings or the painful depths of his Captain's eyes. "In order to verify my thesis I gathered four subsequent soil samples, one from this village. Each soil sample's molecular structure displays irreparable mutations. I presume it was the Federation's modified crops disrupting this flora's mineral balance, molecular composition and nutrient supply to such grave extent"

 

"What does this mean, Spock?", Jim mumbled absentmindedly, not quite accepting what he'd just told him.

 

"When the Federation's genetically modified crops began rendering Alitheia's native crops useless, they not only exponentially accelerated natural vegetation loss but fundamentally altered this soil's chemical and molecular structure", Spock explained neutrally, though Jim recognised the afflicted strain in his voice. "Such alterations will, with a probability of 97.9 percent, prohibit any further cultivation of these grounds and subsequently aggravate the famine to unknown extents"

 

At this point Jim couldn't deny the certainty that Alitheia and its people were irrevocably and undeniably lost sat oppressively in the pit of his stomach. His limbs felt heavy with the knowledge of impending mass mortality, pain and the total nullity of any effort to save innocent inhabitants, who should die at the hands of Starfleet and the Federation.

 

"Then what are we even doing here?", Jim asked, his rough voice heavy with anger and hopelessness.

 

"Elaborate, Captain"

 

"If this planet is doomed anyways, if all these innocent people are gonna starve to death no matter what we do, then why are we even negotiating?", Jim asked incredulously, determined not to succumb to the anger pulsating in his head. "There's no way the planet can survive on imports alone and even if they could, the Federation can't keep that up forever. So what we're doing right now is basically negotiating with the Emperor, if we should let his people die a wretched death now or leave them hoping for a decade or so before the die as well?"

 

Silence spread between them, the gravity of Jim's words weighing heavily upon them.

 

"We shall do no such thing", Spock answered eventually, his calming voice a stark contrast to the multitude of conflicting emotions within Jim. "By negotiating with the Emperor we avail ourselves of the 2.1 percent we have left. It is not our mission to defer starvation, but to ensure elementary sustenance based on Federation Imports until we have found means to re-establish Alitheia's self-sufficiency"

 

"But you said there's no way any plants are gonna grow here again", Jim said, his brows furrowed and his gaze fixed on the strip of dark purple sky above the mountain tops.

 

"It is correct, that no native vegetation shall be able to survive. Nevertheless, it may be possible to cultivate plants specifically adapted to such environment"

 

"Federation-cultivated plants were what caused the famine in the first place, remember? We can't try to help a problem in the same way that we caused it", Jim argued. Something deep within him resisted both against forcing Federation-interference upon the planet again and against leaving the planet to its on devices.

 

"We must", Spock answered. "While I acknowledge your comprehensible ethical quandary, it is our duty to avouch for Alitheia's prosperity and it is equally our responsibility to account for the Federation's grave misconduct"

 

"So what is our next step, Spock? What do we do?", Jim asked, an unfamiliar sense of insecurity filling him with dread, with the oppressive consciousness of his own fallibility.

 

"Per Starfleet Regulation I am not authorised to command you while you are Acting Captain, Jim", Spock asked, his startled expression brought a small smile to Jim's face.

 

"I know, but I still want to hear your opinion on this. I feel this situation is too grave to decide about it on my own and I've always trusted your judgement".

 

A recurrent warmth pervaded Jim's strained mind, as he watched Spock open and close his mouth several times as if he were unsure how to answer, his posture certainly more rigid than before with his hands clasped tightly behind his back and his brows furrowed.

 

"I am – grateful for your trust in my judgement, Jim", Spock began tentatively, his admission of emotion undoubtedly taking great effort. "Logical assessment of advantages and disadvantages would dictate immediate abandonment of the planet. It would not be profitable to sustain Alitheia with Federation Imports for an indeterminate period of time with unknown results, but nevertheless – in this particular case I shall bethink of the sapience by mother taught me when I was a child and 'set logic aside'"

 

A moment of silence spread between them; Spock's empty gaze towards the silhouette of Alitheia's mountains filled Jim with a pain so great he had to lower his head towards the ground, feeling unworthy and inappropriate in this moment of grievous remembrance.

 

"I advise you not to abandon this planet", Spock said eventually, his voice uncharacteristically small and quiet. "The probability of success is infinitesimal, our procedure is indeterminate and Alitheia's survival is solely dependent on the Federation's cooperation. But we have a 2.1 percent chance and if Mother taught me one thing in her continual endeavours to encourage my humanity, it was to never give up hope despite logical impracticality. While I thought such sentiment to be rather elusive, I found that such wisdom did not lack a _raison d'être_ "

 

Jim had given up his attempts not to blatantly stare at his First Officer, aware of his emotions written unconcealedly across his face; he couldn't help but wonder at Spock's sincerity, his willingness to abandon his Vulcan pride and trust his moral instinct, to trust his mother despite not understanding her and at the amount of bravery it must've taken him to overcome himself in such a manner. Countless responses rushed through his mind, but none seemed appropriate for this situation.

 

"Then we shall not abandon", Jim replied eventually, an adoring smile on his face.

 

"I suggest we return to the Enterprise to inform the Admiral and prepare further proceedings", Spock suggested, his neutral voice no indication of what had happened just moments before, as he prepared his communicator.

 

_V._

The soft sound of an opening door disrupted the peaceful quiet of the Enterprise's Bridge, followed by hurried footsteps and a string of Scottish cursing.

 

"Mister Chekov", Scotty exclaimed agitatedly, his hands continuously running over his face, as he spun the young Russian around his chair. "We've got a massive problem"

 

"I promise you it wasn't me!", he scrambled to apologise, his accent growing heavier the more scared he became. "I didn't take your whiskey, it was Keenser, I swear – "

 

"I'm not talkin' about my bloody whiskey, laddie!", Scotty said, drawing the Bridge's attention to him. "We've got a real problem and I need your mechanical expertise"

  
"What's happening, Mister Scott?", Sulu asked, his brows furrowed in concern.

 

Scotty sighed heavily and released his tight grip on Chekov's chair, rubbing his temples.

 

"The Captain's been gone for a while so I attempted to track the signal of his communicator, which was vanishingly low to begin with. But I picked up their frequency and went down to the Transporter Room to beam him and Spock up again", Scotty explained, nervously clenching his fists.

 

"Then what's the problem?", Sulu asked again, his voice tense with anxious anticipation.

 

"As soon as I picked up their frequency –", Scotty began. "Something blocked the signal, there's no possibility to contact them. We can't beam them back up."


	5. bartholomew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter I first have to say that at some point I'll talk about chemistry a bit and I don't know anything about chemistry. I dropped it for A-Levels and I got all my information from the internet, so I'm sorry about the inaccuracy! 
> 
> I also briefly wrote about a situation one might associate with disordered eating habits, so if anyone is sensitive to that sort of thing I recommend to skip the paragraph from "It comforted Jim" to "Tell me, Captain" 
> 
> Despite those things, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and I apologise for uploading so late!

_I._

It was only when they stood in front of the Palace's towering archways that Jim truly became aware of their trek. Their return had taken precisely forty-eight minutes and Jim only knew so because he'd been meticulously counting each second and each minute in a futile attempt to calm the rapidly approaching storm within him, to prevent an unprecedented stage of raw, paralysing, utterly destructive _panic._

 

Scotty's words were still dolorously fresh in his mind, sharply ringing in his ears; paired with the dull fault signal of their Communicators, Alitheia's gruelling atmosphere and its scorching sun setting as rapidly as Jim's last fraction of hope, he powerlessly trudged behind Spock, trusting him to lead the way. Though he couldn't remember anything in regard to how they got from the abandoned village to the Palace, he perfectly recalled their conversation with the Enterprise.

 

After the _tragedy_ , as his childhood therapist had taught him to call it, Jim had sworn to never set foot on an alien planet without an elaborate, failsafe escape plan – an oath his career had forced him to abandon, at least in its former extent; as a Starfleet Captain it was Jim's responsibility not to act like a frightened child on a foreign planet, it was his duty to separate his trauma from his career and he was failing spectacularly. His perpetual, interminable panic paralysed him whenever he left the protecting confines of the Enterprise, leaving him unable to act as responsibly as a Captain should and with destructive, all-consuming night terrors.

 

"Shall I attempt to contact the Enterprise again?", Spock asked; while his voice was uncharacteristically charged with disclosed, aggrieving emotion, Jim doubted anyone apart from himself would have noticed. Once they had overcome their personal difficulties and tentatively approached each other, Jim's understanding of Spock's emotions had become so profound and so thoroughly comprehensive, that – from time to time – Jim felt unworthy of such a privilege.

 

"Perhaps after we talk to Ra'Khoi", Jim mumbled, a smile on his lips so forced he wanted to cry. "Maybe he's got some explanation for this"

 

As the gilt-plated archways opened for them, Spock stood idly and waited for Jim to proceed and enter the Palace first, following him closely. Perhaps Spock had developed an equal understanding for Jim's emotions; he was aware that Jim would often seek physical comfort when something troubled him, the primordially and exclusively human gesture of putting one's arms around another person providing him great comfort. While Spock would not participate in such rituals, he had noticed that walking or standing in close proximity to his Captain appeared to give similar solace – the distinct decrease in anxiety radiating from his Captain was certainly verifying his hypothesis.

 

During their forty-eight minute trek to the Palace, Spock had registered an atypical, thoroughly disconcerting mental absence in his Captain; when directly addressed, Jim would take approximately 3.4 times longer to respond, often displaying signs of profound absentmindedness. He would startle easier and he appeared to be continuously lost in deep thought. Such behavioural conspicuousness had emerged significantly earlier, Spock noted, yet they appeared to have exponentially increased within the prior months.

During sparse moments of mental weakness Spock had allowed his mind to wander, to shed the strict confines of control and pursue his painfully repressed thoughts; it had been during those precious minutes that Spock had granted himself to think of his Captain as a human being with a past and a future, with hopes and dreams, with fears, peculiarities, hidden pain and secrets. Perhaps it had been the burden of re-emerged pain of a repressed past, Spock hypothesised, which had led to such profound behavioural change; no man would suffer so silently and yet so greatly with a past unscarred.

 

"Captain!", the Emperor's raucous voice echoed with the wide marble foyer, emphasising his overpowering presence. He stood atop the stairway with his floor-length leather robe seemingly merging with the ebony-coloured marble, intently staring at Jim and Spock with an indefinably ambiguous emotion behind his neutral expression. "What brings you back so soon?"

 

Jim felt as if he were drowning; he opened his mouth with the intention to tell of their problem, to confront the Emperor with the fact they were unable to return and inevitably stranded on his famished planet, but out came only silence weighing heavily between them, shame washing over him with relentless intensity. Bleakness pervaded his strained mind, no words appearing appropriate for the intensity of emotions he felt.

 

"It has transpired our communication channels with the Enterprise have been compromised", Spock answered, sensing the shameful, anxious tension radiating from his friend; though the inevitable transmission of human emotion measured up to barely a fraction of its intensity, the overwhelming multitude, the relentless storm of emotion overwhelmed Spock entirely. "The Captain and I find ourselves incapable of returning to our ship."

 

Without responding, the Emperor turned around and gestured for Jim and Spock to follow, a low chuckle echoing off the broad walls.

 

_II._

Their walk through the Palace had passed in uncomfortable silence; grotesquely interwoven corridors, mediaeval gargoyles and endless marble floors leading their way towards a disproportionately small door. Jim had seen the Palace often enough to wonder about the nature of it, about how its exquisite splendour posed a sickening contrast to the abject conditions he'd witnessed earlier, how such an architectural masterpiece had been shamelessly built amidst a dying planet.

 

The smaller room behind the door presented a similar image, with ebony tables and fireplaces along lithic walls leaving Jim feeling treacherous towards Alitheia's starving people. Ra'Khoi led them through the room and gestured for them to take a seat at the table, crystalline glasses filled with wine, apparently for reasons of generous precaution.

 

"In hindsight", Ra'Khoi began, his wiry hands folded on the table. "I believe I should have informed you earlier."

 

"Is there any possibility for us to contact our Crew?", Jim asked bluntly, struggling to control the urgency in his voice; his paralysing, debilitating panic had turned into adrenaline, stoking his feral instinct to run, to escape, to fight his way out of captivity like a caged animal.

 

"Without a doubt, Captain, without a doubt!", the Emperor hastily reassured him, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "As your First Officer has undoubtedly noticed by now, our planet's atmosphere has undetectable and yet significant properties, quite different from what you must be used to."

 

"I need your elaboration, Emperor", Spock asked, his monotonous voice failing to hide the slightest hint of curiosity. "I postulated several hypotheses, nevertheless your verification is indispensable"

 

Ra'Khoi turned his head towards the cross-barred windows; his gaze following countless speckles of dust, seemingly focusing on nothing in particular except for the increasingly darkening landscape before him. As he appeared to have collected himself, he turned his head towards Spock and Jim again, something unreadable lingering behind his pitch-black eyes.

 

"You may be unable to contact or to return to your ship because of our atmosphere's specific electromagnetic ratio – Alitheia appears to be the only planet with such unusual atmospherical properties, it is mostly unheard of", the Emperor explained. "Our electromagnetic energy fields largely prohibit any sort of communication or transportation"

 

"Yet we were able to beam down to the planet", Jim asked, his brows furrowed in question.

 

"As I said before, Captain, our particular atmospherical ratio is so unusual we ourselves are not entirely sure how it works either. These inhibitory factors are strong enough to stop most forms of communication, but not all. So – to speak in Earth terms – it's a _hit or miss_ , I believe"

 

Jim crossed his arms in front of his chest and sighed deeply, leaning back in the soft leathern chair. While the Emperor's words hadn't entirely put his troubled mind at ease, he allowed a minuscule fraction of hope to flourish in his constricting chest.

 

"So we can't be sure _when_ we'll be able to contact the Enterprise?", Jim asked. "Because even if we can't beam back up immediately, we'd better let them know anyways"

 

"I understand, and I can only advise you to keep attempting to contact your Crew. We can't be sure when your signal will be strong enough, you'll just have to try. Nevertheless, I believe I need to inform you about – further inhibitory effects", Ra'Khoi answered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Our atmosphere does not only affect transportation signals but furthermore has minor health implications. I specifically referred to your First Officer since our atmosphere's effects are mainly of a – a psychological nature"

 

"Elaborate", Spock repeated, his brows equally furrowed with his posture more rigid than before. "Are such psychological effects confined to Vulcans?"

 

"No, every species may be affected, but Vulcans certainly tend to react more intensive to its properties", Ra'Khoi answered, his gaze fixed on Spock. "I suspect, Mister Spock, you subconsciously noticed it before but our atmosphere induces a vast range of peculiar biochemical conversion processes in your and your Captain's brains – a range, we, sadly, aren't able to oversee yet"

 

"Excuse me", Jim interrupted, shame burning in his cheeks. "I haven't had a chemistry lecture since the Academy – can you tell us about some of those conversion processes, or, at least, about their effects on us, specifically?"

 

"What we've observed most often and what our Healers have confirmed, is that – somehow – our atmosphere converts tryptophan to 5-hydroxytryophan by combining it with tryptophan hydroxylase, which produces –"

 

"Serotonin", Spock answered. "It is a neurotransmitter first discovered in 1948 with its main effects on impulse control, aggression, thinking abilities, anxiety and mood regulation. An increased production of serotonin is ordinarily – or with reference to human physiology - linked to agitation, muscle rigidity, seizures and mental confusion. Yet, since Vulcans are able to control their emotions through meditation, our serotonin levels are significantly lower by nature, except during _plak tow._ I must admit, I am –", Spock faltered, his jaw slightly clenched and his left eyebrow raised. "Unsure about its effects"

 

"There's nothing like Vulcan education", Ra'Khoi remarked with a hearty chuckle. "But your First Officer is right. Alitheia has significant effect on emotional control, which is the very essence of Vulcan nature. With prolonged exposure to our atmosphere, Mister Spock may find it increasingly difficult to practice meditation, control his impulses and might be prone to irrational, emotional – well, essentially human behaviour"

 

As he leaned back in his chair, Jim contemplated the knowledge he'd just acquired; he knew little to nothing about Vulcan nature, but he was aware of how unwilling expression of emotion affected them, how much mental and physical pain it would cause to force emotion out of a Vulcan, and how greatly Spock would suffer from such violation.

 

"How can we protect him?", Jim asked, his gaze focused on a pompous curtain behind Ra'Khoi.

 

"Our atmosphere affects you just as much, Captain", Ra'Khoi said, confusion blatantly written across his face, his raised eyebrow and wrinkled forehead.

 

"I know", Jim said impatiently, momentarily ignoring how this conversation had rapidly taken a negative turn. "But I'm used to emotional expression. Mister Spock is a Vulcan, it'll affect him enormously and I'd – well, I don't want him to suffer if it can be prevented"

 

"I must assure you I will be alright, Jim", Spock interrupted. "We must first focus on establishing contact with the Enterprise"

 

"Alright", Jim agreed reluctantly, carefully watching his First Officer. "If we don't know how long it'll take to make contact with the Enterprise, we'll need somewhere to stay"

 

"The Palace has separate guest quarters. You may stay for as long as you need", the Emperor offered, a suppressed sigh of relief left unheard.

 

 

_III._

Jim's discomfort grew proportionally with the dinner's progressing duration.

 

For the second time in two days Jim and Spock found themselves amongst high-ranking government officials, personal acquaintances of the Emperor, the entirety of Alitheia's military and blatantly malnourished servants serving them obscenely elaborate meals, obsessively attempting to maintain an illustrious image of a rotten society. Though Jim's stomach growled audibly a stinging pain of hunger seething within him, the meals presented before him had him swallow thickly, relentless waves of nausea washing over him – an involuntary physiological reaction he'd had ever since his childhood, one which he'd been unable to abandon yet.

 

It comforted Jim; whenever it all became too much – when his tremendous responsibility would threaten to crush him beneath its weight like vermin beneath steel-toed boots, when locked-up demons felt unconquerable and when he felt like drowning in his own treacherous mind – Jim unfailingly found comfort in his hunger. His mind was as bizarre, as contradictory as could be; seeking solace in the roots of his pain – ever since Jim had become briefly but irrevocably entangled in his own methods, in his self-made vicious circle of seeking hunger to numb his pain, he'd sworn to take those secrets to the grave. Starfleet had given him an escape and yet Jim felt himself slipping back into what he once cursed, desperately crying out for something to take his pain away.

 

"Tell me, Captain", an audibly intoxicated Alitheian military officer slurred from across the wine-stained table, his ice-blue eyes fixed firmly on Jim. "What's the Federation been up to lately? Haven't heard anythin' in quite a while, eh?"

 

Jim felt uncomfortable heat creeping up his neck, forcing each protesting fibre in his body not to avert his gaze.

 

"Well, you're hearing from us now, aren't you?", Jim began, his voice displaying a bizarrely overstated self-confidence and the sort of flirtatious humour he knew the Alitheians expected from him. "I, for one, am honoured to reach out to Alitheia on behalf of the Federation after our – fallout"

 

"Our fallout?", the drunken Alitheian asked incredulously, a hostile laugh pervading the room, which suddenly felt much colder than before. "If you mean the _genocide_ committed by the Federation –"

 

Ra'Khoi stood up, his chair audibly scraping over the stone floor; his head turned towards the military official, his suddenly uncharacteristically cold, threatening gaze silencing him.

 

"Enough", he growled, before sitting down once more and searching for Jim's eyes, no trace of his previous menace left in his voice. "I must apologise, Captain. Colonel Hovid doesn't react very well to Saurian Brandy, I'm afraid."

 

"Nothing to worry about", Jim said with a small smile, guilt washing over him. "He has a point, I can't take offence at him, really."

 

"Still, we Alitheians pride ourselves on our compassion and our helpfulness – virtues we must rely on more than ever, these days", the Emperor answered absentmindedly, pouring himself another glass of Brandy. Despite the almost thirty people in the room no sound was to be heard, each guest anxiously anticipating their Emperor's remarks.

"I'm almost ashamed to say these characteristic, our kindness and our openness hasn't been directed at the Federation within the last decades, as Colonel Hovid has _graciously_ displayed. During times like these we have to look out for our own and sometimes – compassion get's lost along the way"

 

"It is logical to ensure sustenance and well-being of one's own populace above all else when confronted with secular hardship", Spock remarked, his meal remaining largely untouched.

 

Jim couldn't help but huff humourlessly; while the Palace appeared to monopolise Alitheia's food resources and prided itself on compassion for other races, no one had made an effort to show enough understanding for the Vulcan race to offer him a vegetarian meal – it wasn't a serious misstep and Spock didn't appear to be particularly bothered by it, but Jim felt rage bubbling up within him, not directed at anything in particular but everything at once.

 

"It is logical, Mister Spock", the Emperor answered, thoughtfully raising his glass. "But if we all relied on logic to make our decisions there would never be peace. Compassion, kindness and support transcend your laws of logic – those virtues are non-negotiable, they are the very foundation of our civilisation. When we lose those virtues, when we let hardship compromise our values, we lose ourselves entirely"

 

"An honourable attitude, Emperor", Jim said quietly. "Especially during those times, I guarantee not everyone would act the way you would."

 

"Most would act like you", the drunken Colonel interrupted once more, his sardonic smile dripping with resentment for everything Jim represented. "'To hell with compassion!', right? As long as it profits you, why would you care about anyone else? You brought your crops, took your profit and never looked back"

 

"Colonel", Spock answered, his voice unusually hard. "I must remind you neither I nor the Captain were involved in or aware of the Federation's actions until your honoured Emperor informed us recently. While we acknowledge your vindicated incensement, I must ask you not to hold the Captain individually accountable and to demonstrate respect for him as a higher-ranking Officer"

 

"Thank you, Mister Spock", the Emperor interrupted quickly, attempting to defuse the electric tension hanging between them. "I must – once again – apologise for my Colonel, he's always quite … hasty"

 

"Hasty, Sir?", Jim asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

 

"I had planned to address later in the evening, how you and your Crew plan to approach Starfleet about reparation payments. I believe it is still your plan to hold the Federation accountable on our behalf?", Ra'Khoi asked, a disconcerting mixture of overstated innocence and sopping kindness prevalent in his voice.

 

"Certainly", Jim answered, casting an insecure glance at his First Officer next to him. "I, uh, I must admit I hadn't thought about it yet. We're still trying to figure out how to get back to the Enterprise, so once that's done, I believe we'll start our negotiations with the Federation"

 

"You know, Captain, we've made countless attempts to negotiate with the Federation – futile, I'm afraid. They wouldn't compensate us for our enormous losses, at one point they insisted they were not responsible for what happened", the Emperor continued; his eyes were fixed on the plate in front of him, absentmindedly cutting a slab of meat. "I spoke of our moral decay, of our pain – nothing would convince the Federation to acknowledge what they had done, so – inevitably – we had to make use of … different methods"

 

Jim felt his blood turn cold inside his veins, a cold shiver creeping up his spine; the fight-or-flight response numbed his mind, adrenaline rushing through his nervous system.

 

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Emperor", Spock inquired, his voice slow and cautious; out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Spock reaching for his phaser, his slender hand curled tightly around the weapon. "If the Federation remained inapproachable for negotiation, I fail to see how a change of concept would help your cause. As I have come to understand, compassion for one another means mutual respect – failing to acknowledge that the Federation may be uninterested in reparation payments would be essentially disrespectful"

 

"We figured that if the Federation spits on values, we shall do the same if this should be what it takes to get what we deserve", the Emperor hissed, his eyes steeped with hatred and wrath, as his clenched fist collided with the wooden table. "The Federation took everything from us! They took our land, enslaved our people, left us starving and savaged, and they refuse to admit what they've done! Well, all it took was two assassinated Admirals and a bit of blackmail to hear an admission of guilt, and if this is what it takes to extort reparation payments, we shall not hesitate"

 

Before Jim had fully processed Ra'Khoi's words, he felt two strong hands on his neck forcefully pulling him backwards beneath their chairs; his surroundings went blurred, a dull ringing in his ears leaving him numb to an erupting, chaotic clamour around them. Jim felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears, with a sharp stinging pain in his ribs and unsuspected blood stains on his fingers, as he instinctively reached for the phaser in his pocket. Jim found his First Officer's eyes amidst fired weapons and indistinct shouting; even amidst such horror Spock remained focused and collected, his shots precise and calculated and Jim couldn't help but wonder at his First Officer.

 

"Jim, we must go", Spock said firmly, as he briefly scanned the room, tightly gripping Jim's upper arm, as he slowly guided them towards the back of the room.

Despite the deafening clamour surrounding them, Jim clearly heard the sharp noise of a breaking window behind them and felt himself abruptly dragged backwards.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hope you enjoy this piece. I've had the idea of putting Jim and Spock through another Tarsus IV-Experience for quite a while, but since I'm almost done with school I figured I now have enough time to truly dedicate myself to it. Since my work will deal with Tarsus IV, there'll be a bunch of potentially triggering topics. I tried to include them in the tags, but I'll put separate trigger warnings into the notes at the beginning of the chapters.  
> I hope you enjoy and feel free to comment, I'd love to hear your opinions.


End file.
